


Mistakes

by SilverFountains



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Innuendo, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Learning the intricacies of iglishmêk, the dwarven sign language, requires patience and focused attention - two things which Kíli has never had much of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ошибки](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825700) by [LeilaMary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeilaMary/pseuds/LeilaMary)



Like all dwarves he had learnt the basics of iglishmêk, their secret sign language, from a young age. The silent gestures were as much part of any conversation as the aglab, the spoken form of Khuzdul. Unlike the spoken word which had remained pretty much unchanged through the passage of time and was used almost uniformly across the different dwarven clans, iglishmêk was very much influenced by local customs and culture, with small differences that could greatly bend the meaning of any intended conversation. It enriched their language in a way that the other races would never understand, adding little subtleties to the spoken conversation - an emphasis or emotion. But foremost it could be used as a full blow unspoken language, instead of the aglab, in the noisy environment of the mines and forges where the spoken word could not be heard.

The basics of iglishmêk used in Thorin’s Halls in the Blue Mountains were not that difficult. Kili had learnt those as easily he had learnt to walk and talk. But those were the common signs such as _thank you_ , _I’m listening_ and _I honour you_ as well as the swift little movements to indicate agreement or disagreement or service and honour when speaking to someone elder or more senior in rank. But none of those allowed him to have an entire conversation in the rapid finger and hand movements that other races could barely detect let alone interpret. Not even the elves had such a rich sign language. And to really get to grips with the full range of signs, especially the little subtleties within them that could swiftly turn a meaning on its head, was a skill that took years of study to perfect.

And studying had never been his favourite past time. He much preferred to spend his days practising with sword or bow, exploring the ancient ruins of the fallen dwarven city on which Thorin had attempted to rebuild their temporary settlement. And he spent much of the time when he was supposed to be listening and more important looking at Balin showing him the rapid flicks of thumbs and fingers dreaming about hunting or running through the empty halls with his brother instead.

Until now it had never been an issue. His signing was crude, but he had never had to rely solely on it. Occasionally he got told off by Dis or Thorin for being rude as his iglishmêk lacked the required refinements. And once he had insulted the baker when he had erroneously referred to his wife as delicious rather than the honeyed cake he was buying. But those mistakes could easily be forgiven. He had a quick tongue – too quick sometimes and that too had earned him Thorin’s disapproval more than once – and with the cheeky grin to accompany his easy babble he charmed his way through his early life without having to worry about the particulars of the unspoken language.

That was until he started to work in the forges. Now that he was of age he was required to learn the practical skills that would both help bring in the money they needed to survive, but more importantly – as Thorin liked to stress – strengthen his muscles and bulk out his youthful frame, so that he would be combat ready when the time to reclaim their homeland would come.

The forge was a noisy environment, with the roaring of the fires, the blowing of the bellows, the sizzling of the red-hot weapons into the vats of water and most of all the constant clanging of hammers upon metal. It was here that his kin relied so heavily on iglishmêk to communicate with one another. And where Kili quickly found that his understanding of their sign language fell woefully short.

Fili is hammering away at the broad blade next to him. He is eight years ahead of him, already able to forge the finest of weapons without their uncle’s supervision.

Whereas Kili is but a new apprentice. He is carefully watching the iron that he is working with glowing a bright orange red. It is a precise business; too cold and the metal will break when manipulated on the anvil, too hot and it will be too soft to hold the chosen shape.

Thorin is watching him, his arms crossed, as he observes his youngest kin learning the skill of their forefathers. Kili has done well enough so far. He is not as skilled as Fili is and Thorin is not sure if he will ever develop the preciseness and delicateness in his work as his older brother. It does not matter. His nephews are not growing up to become expert blacksmiths. By the time they are his age he hopes to have taken them back to Erebor where they will be the princes of Durin once more. But he wants Kili to be able to forge a decent enough weapon at least.

Kili’s brow is knit together in concentration as he stares at the colouring of the metal. Then he glances up at Thorin and mouths something at him, but with Fili hammering his own piece of work so close to him the words disappear into the air before they reach Thorin’s ears.

 _Cannot hear. Hands!_ Thorin motions with his own finger movements.

It is not easy to use iglishmêk with the thick gloves and whilst your hands are occupied holding scolding hot metal between the iron tongs. Kili sighs in frustration before he signs the question.

Thorin’s eyes bulge. _Pardon?_

Oh by Mahal, Kili groans as he repeats the question a third time. _Can I take the sword out?_

He can hear a chuckle next to him and as he looks up Fili is snickering. _What?_ He signals to his brother.

 _Nothing_. _You carry on_. Fili chuckles.

Kili shakes his head. Fili can be a right git at times as he enjoys to see Kili struggle with what comes so naturally to him.

He turns back to the blade in front of him and raises it from the heat, watching the colours play along the metal. It looks ready. He turns back to Thorin. _Is the sword hot enough_?

Dwalin has appeared behind Thorin with a broad smile across his face. He whispers something in Thorin’s ear who grins back at his old friend. Then Dwalin signs something in such a rapid motion to Kili that he only catches snippets of it. _You …. Sword … Hard …?_

Fili has dropped his own blade now and is wetting himself laughing as he has come to stand next to Kili. He scowls at his brother. _What?_ He repeats. Something is going on that has everyone around him in stitches and somehow the joke is escaping him.

“Do you think he has any idea what he just said to you?” Dwalin shouts in Thorin’s ear over the banging of the hammer onto the glowing blade.

Thorin chuckles. “If he does I do not know whether to feel insulted or flattered.”

“Humour us a little,” Dwalin says. “Let us have a little fun with him. Teach him that he should pay more attention when Balin teaches him iglishmêk.”

Thorin nods. _Very well._

Thorin smiles warmly at Kili. _You think … your sword … is ready … for forging …?_ Kili reads in the slower signage that Thorin kindly shows him. Fili and Dwalin burst out laughing once more, but Kili nods brightly as he lifts the iron out of the scorching heat, ignoring the others.

He places the red-hot metal onto the anvil and lifts up the hammer, ready to bring down onto the soft rough blade to start to hammer it into the required thickness and rough shape. Thorin is still watching him carefully, with Dwalin still grinning over his shoulder. He slowly walks over to Kili. _Tell me. What … are you … doing?_

Kili puts down his hammer for a moment. He understands that it is difficult to verbally understand each other in this environment, but signing one-handed whilst you are trying to work is hardly any easier. _I … am pounding … blade_.

Thorin nods with a gentle smile. _Good. Tell me … when … blade … hardens._ At least Kili thinks that is what Thorin is saying. He is pretty sure. _When the blade … solid ... you ... need … my help_ , Thorin smiles warmly.

He can hear Dwalin’s roaring laughter even over the clanging of hammers as issued by their colleagues on the other side of the forge. Kili narrows his eyes. They are definitely toying with him, that much is obvious now. He puts down his tools and crosses his arms. “What is going on?” he shouts over the noise. But his elders shake their head and Thorin points at the abandoned blade on the anvil. Kili scowls but picks it up again nonetheless.

 _Too cold_ , Thorin reprimands him for abandoning his work as he inspects the blade. _You … need to … put … sword … into the forge … again._

Thorin realises that even as he uses the correct signs this time, this conversation has taken such a dodgy turn that Fili is still gasping for air as he holds his sides which are shaking with laughter.

Kili throws down his tools, knowing he is risking an ear bashing for it from Thorin. But he is not standing here being made fun of. Not even by Thorin. Especially not by Thorin. “No,” he shouts. “You tell me why everyone is laughing at me.”

Thorin narrows his eyes at his nephew. Then he motions him to step outside of the forge, where they can speak to each other without having to shout. “Kili,” he says evenly, when the clanging and Dwalin’s and Fili’s laughter becomes just background noise. “What is the sign for _sword_?”

Kili crosses his middle finger over his index finger, but Thorin frowns and then shakes his head slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he is trying to keep his composure.

“No?”

Thorin raises his own hand and shows him the correct symbol.

“How is that different?” Kili frowns.

“Which finger is on top, Kili?”

“Oh. I see.” He swaps his fingers around to make the correct symbol this time. “So what’s this?” He asks, changing the sign back again.

Thorin raises his eyebrow. Then he steps forward and makes Kili jump as he cups his privates through his breeches. “A sword of such, my sweet one,” he grins as he squeezes him gently.

Kili eyes grow wide as his cheeks flare hot.

“And blade?” Thorin asks hotly, bringing his face close to Kili’s, making the younger dwarf sweat as he feels his uncle’s breath brush his face.

Kili tentatively holds up his index and middle finger, but Thorin takes his hand roughly and moved his thumb in the right place. “Like that,” he laughs. “Unless you mean _shaft_.”

Kili chokes softly. “I … I am sorry, Thorin,” he whispers, embarrassed. No wonder Fili and Dwalin were laughing at him. What has he said to Thorin? He cannot remember. Something about taking out his sword. No … Oh … He flushes even redder as realisation dawns on him.

“Now you promise me you pay more attention when Balin is trying to teach you,” Thorin says sternly.

Kili nods, lowering his eyes. Thorin must be so angry at him for being so rude.

But Thorin softly runs his hand over his cheek and then pushes his chin up. “And next time you are proposing anything less decent to me, don’t do it in front of Dwalin and Fili.” He bends himself even closer now until his lips brush ever so slightly over Kili’s. “I would be more than happy to give you a hand with your …” and he stands back and finishes the sentence in a flurry of iglishmêk before turning on his heels and leaving a dumbfound Kili staring at his back.

Now did Thorin mean to make that mistake?  - He flushes a bright red - Or did he really just suggest what Kili thinks he said?


End file.
